TOUCH

When my hands are in range of a jacket or blouse, my hand instinctively reaches out to feel the fabric. Run its fibers between my fingers. I like to bury myself in the richness and feel the silk and the way it slides. It’s as if these items have a story to tell, and I am the willing listener.

Touch connects you, and gives you comfort. There’s a reason children cling to blankets and stuffed animals – it makes them feel comforted in a way that words cannot. And when I hold my son in my arms, he rubs my arm or my shirt because it’s a feeling of love, and warmth, and few other senses give such a sense of peace.

When you touch something, you can also hear its story. Whether you are running your hands over a scar or holding a piece of dry, brittle earth, there’s a deeper meaning. Once I got leather samples from one of our factories and I wasn’t happy with the dry, brittle feel of it. It wasn’t bad leather, but like skin it needed to be touched. It needed the oils of my hands massaging love into its fibers. And after a bit, it gave in. It softened and became more pliable. I kept that leather, and was reminded how much the simple act of touch can change things.